


star-crossed bullshit (black holes feast)

by MissDinahDarling



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Billy Hargrove Is Bad at Feelings, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff, Gay Billy Hargrove, Insecurity, Jealousy, Lack of Communication, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Mixtape, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Oblivious, Past Child Abuse, Pining, Possessive Behavior, Protective Siblings, Relationship Problems, Roommates, Steve Harrington-centric, Unhealthy Relationships, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-16 02:30:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18512056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissDinahDarling/pseuds/MissDinahDarling
Summary: Billy makes a mixtape for when he fucks boys, except it’s on Spotify, and he’sonlyfucking Steve, and all the songs are oddly, and suspiciously,romantic.Steve doesn’t get it, at first.





	star-crossed bullshit (black holes feast)

“All these songs are from the 80s,” Steve complains.

He feels Billy sigh irritably against his neck and suddenly the soft, wet flush of tongue is gone, replaced by a flash of pain, caused by Billy’s impossibly sharp teeth.

“You gotta problem with the classics?” he asks, and he says it like it’s supposed to be a rhetorical question, but when has Steve ever just left shit alone?

“I dunno,” he shrugs from underneath Billy and shifts, wriggles, until he annoys Billy to the point that he rears up and glares down at him. Steve flashes him a sweet smile and shrugs again, “You kinda seem more like a… 90s cock-rock man. Like, you have that whole grungy, ‘oh, Led-Zep, lemme suck your dick’, vibe going on.”

Billy sighs, says, “you don't know me at all.”

He almost sounds disappointed.

Steve snorts, tilts his head in a silent invitation. Billy takes it without complaint and ducks back in, pressing lips and teeth and tongue to the long slope of Steve's throat. Billy has a thing for feeling Steve’s pulse in his mouth – he thought it was weird, at first; thought Billy had consumed one-too-many tacky vampire novels as a kid, but after discovering more of Billy’s kinks, he realised that this one ain’t so bad.

“Hey”, he murmurs softly, rocking his hips up to meet Billy’s, teasing and taunting – just the way Billy _likes_ , “is it really a mixtape if it's on Spotify?”

Billy sighs and nips Steve sharply, leaving behind a mark that not even El’s make-up skills could cover. “It ain’t a mixtape – it’s a playlist for fucking,” he insists, and Steve snorts because a _sex playlist_?

Billy is so fucking dorky.

“Except,” Steve begins, dragging out the vowels with a taunt, “you made it for _me_.”

“I made it for _fucking_ ,” he states, emphasising the word by two harsh thrusts against Steve’s body. His mind whites out, blank and blurring at the edges as the friction rubs deliciously against his dick.

“My name is on it,” he whines out, his hands scrabbling for purchase at Billy’s shoulders. Billy doesn’t like much pain during sex – can give it, but he can’t take it. He likes it when Steve scratches him though – enjoys it when Steve leaves marks on his body.

It’s weird… ‘cause they’re not even together, but Billy is so into leaving marks.

And getting them.

Steve distinctly wonders what it would be like to be Billy’s boyfriend – if he’s this possessive over a fuckbuddy, it must be _insane_ to have him when he’s _committed_ to you.

Billy rolls his eyes. “Not technically,” he says, and sucks hard on Steve’s neck, leaving another mark that Steve will struggle to hide. The last time he had gone into work, he had been give a written warning for appearing unprofessional in the workplace – he then received a second written warning when he asked them how professional a guy could be in a goddam ice cream store.

Apparently, he needs to worry about the children, because oh god, people don’t worry about them enough.

Billy certainly doesn’t give a shit.

“Um, no,” Steve corrects, with a roll of his eyes, “I am literally the only princess you know, do not take this away from me.”

“God, I forgot how much of a hopeless romantic you are – knew you’d fucking misread it,” Billy says, and he sounds almost… wistful? Yeah, _wistful_.

Still.

Steve snorts. “So,” he says, feeling incredibly smug, “you _did_ make it for me.”

And Billy has to pull back, has to put space between them and shut his eyes. Steve can tell he’s trying to calm down, because Billy goes to anger management now, and Billy is learning to talk with his words and not his fists, and Billy now counts to ten when Steve annoys him, instead of just diving in with his nasty words. At first, Steve thought it was dumb – but then he remembers _why_ Billy has to count to ten and _why_ he goes to anger management.

He remembers seeing Billy passed out in their apartment block’s gym after pushing himself too far, remembers calling the hospital and the ambulance ride, remembers all the doctors and nurses that recommended some old hag who took no shit and could reform fucking Rambo given the chance. Steve remembers Billy complaining about being accused of self-harming and punishing himself and Steve listened to him, because Steve is kinda good at listening to people vent. Steve remembers all this and realises that he’d much rather Billy count to fucking ten, than see Billy’s prone form on the gym floor again, surrounded by weights and completely alone.

That being said, the look on Billy’s face is still sorta funny. Steve fails to restrain himself and reaches up, fully intending on poking Billy’s cheeks, but he jumps when a pair of icy-blue eyes snap open and glare down at him. Steve is slow to react though, can’t pull his hand away quick enough, before Billy pounces and bites his finger hard.

“Asshole, fuck,” Steve shrieks, laughing because Billy hasn’t been this playful in _weeks_. He bats at him with his free hand, but Billy is grabbing his other hand and pinning it down to the bed, caging Steve’s body with Steve’s finger caught between surprisingly white teeth – it had shocked him at first, but Billy is _big_ on hygiene and his collection of hair products and skincare treatments have taken over their shared bathroom.

Steve can't even _try_ any of them, because Billy is a possessive bastard who doesn’t just hoard people, but crappy shit too like the apocalypse is on the horizon. He once sussed out that Steve had sampled his limited-edition Lush lip-scrub and then proceeded to give him the silent treatment for three whole days.

The worse thing about a silent Billy?

Steve can’t even jerk off without feeling bad about it.

He crooks his finger in Billy’s mouth, drags it down Billy’s tongue and shivers when Billy starts to suckle lightly. It’s oddly intimate and probably more romantic than it should be.

But Steve reads too much into shit, has always read too much into shit and now he’s doing it _again_.

“What’s this one called?” he asks, to distract himself, because he doesn't know what else to say… which is _lie_ – he _knows_ what he wants to say, he just isn’t sure he won’t get punched for saying it.

“It's Erasure,” Billy answers, releasing Steve’s finger, but catching his hand in his own. Billy inspects the tiny indents with a smug smile playing on his lips – playful Billy is so much fucking _fun_ , Steve decides.

He wants to keep this Billy forever.

“Yeah. But what’s it called?” Steve asks, insisting and with a touch of a whine threading through his words.

Billy rolls his eyes and pins Steve’s other hand to the bed.

“Y’know, if you look left, you’ll see the fucking name for yourself,” Billy says, with an arched brow and a low voice, ducking down to brush his lips across Steve’s lips and he hums happily in response. He _hates_ it when Billy does shit like this – sweet, romantic shit, overly indulgent and dreamily cute – it gives him that flash of hope, like he has a chance at something _more_.

“I want _you_ to tell me,” he shoots back, demanding and bratty, because Billy _likes_ it when he plays up the part of a spoiled prince – the guy has a _thing_ for putting Steve back in his place, alongside his _thing_ for marking Steve up, and his _thing_ for pinning Steve to random surfaces.

“Bossy bitch,” Billy murmurs with a sigh, pulling back to gaze down at Steve with the weirdest look in his eye. It makes Steve suspicious and slightly scared, because even like this, Billy is still unpredictable, and no amount of anger management could possibly reign all his shit in. Steve swallows, tries to turn his head, because Billy has propped his phone up against Steve’s lamp and from the corner of his eye, he can see the obscure outline of the album cover and the white words underneath that run underneath it.

Billy stops him from twisting his head over though and holds a hand up to his cheek, forcing Steve to look up at him.

“It's called [_A Little Respect_](https://open.spotify.com/track/7aS418hRnOnYrXeyrZilwk),” he answers, finally, staring down at Steve with that same scary, unreadable expression on his face, “which you fucking owe me, by the way.”

“What's it about?” Steve asks, his heart racing in his chest. Billy’s body always ran hot, and his hand feels like a furnace against his face – he wonders if he could blame the flush on that instead of anything… else

Billy sighs, again, like Steve is being _stupid_ , and rests his forehead against Steve’s. 

“You musta missed the memo, but the thing with music is,” and here, Billy _bites_ sharply at Steve's lips, mean and teasing all at once. Steve runs his tongue across his mouth, surprised that he can't taste blood, “you fucking _listen_ to it,” Billy finishes, breathing hot against Steve's face.

Steve’s body tingles, every nerve on fire, eager for Billy’s touch.

“Asshole,” he mutters, biting his lip as he wriggles underneath Billy’s body.

Billy grins, and Steve mourns the loss of _playful_ Billy, ‘cause now Billy is back to being a _dick_ who smiles like a _shark_ and says _mean shit_ , and spitefully changes the password to their _shared_ Spotify account without telling Steve because he touched his overpriced Lush products once.

“Only for you,” Billy winks.

* * *

“I recognise this one,” Steve says, tapping his foot along with the beat as Billy sets about making them coffee.

Billy rolls his eyes – “ _Everyone_ knows this one,” he says, like it's a _fact_. He says a _lot_ of things in this tone of voice; like he can’t believe Steve is _this_ stupid, or he thinks that Steve must have lived under a rock, or Steve has to be doing this on purpose, ‘cause _holy_ _fuck_ , how can you be this goddamn _obtuse_ princess?

Steve had to text Nancy that day about what the word ‘obtuse’ meant.

She had messaged him back the definition, with a delicately worded threat that should Billy _ever_ refer to him as obtuse again, then she would shoot his balls clean off.

Steve took great delight in that text and forwarded to literally everyone he knew. Nancy's brother's girlfriend, El, ended up embroidering it for him as a housewarming present, and now it hung up in their living room in a pretty blue frame.

When Billy saw it, he had simply lifted a brow at it and hung up his own gift from El – a poetically worded threat to Steve courtesy of Max, who had promised to shave all of Steve's hair off in his sleep, should he ever push Billy past his boundaries.

Steve thought it was _weird_ , because… _well_. Wasn’t this the kinda thing that people do... when they're dating? Like, getting shovel talks and threats from loved ones? Then hanging physical representations of those threats up onto the wall for everyone to see? But Billy hadn’t said anything, so Steve carefully avoided the subject too, because he’s stupid, but he isn’t _completely useless_.

Still, whatever they were doing, it hadn’t prevented Will Byers from lecturing everyone on how shovel talks were painfully outdated, and took away people's agency, and how it's not healthy for relationships to have that factor of fear, and how it's impossible to not hurt each because it's gonna happen, and he said some other shit, but at that point all the kids started in with their two cents, then they all started shouting at each other and it just left Steve with a _headache_ and the weirdest feeling that he was missing out on something.

Well. Until Billy had dragged him out of the room to blow him in their bathroom – he had felt pretty good after that.

Steve bites his lip at the memory, feeling the familiar tickle of arousal spark in his groin – wonders if Billy has time for a quickie before he leaves for work. Probably not, as Billy hates morning sex, which is really fucking dumb, but it’s whatever. They’ve gotten to the point where, despite being fuckbuddies, they work around shit like this. Steve doesn’t bother seducing Billy in the morning, and Billy? Well, he leaves Steve the fuck alone in the bathroom, ’cause Steve _hates_ having sex in the shower.

He doesn’t begrudge Billy for having limits – he’s actually surprised that Billy knows what limits are.

He reaches over the counter and snatches up Billy’s phone; he hasn’t had the chance to check out the whole playlist properly – he wants to know if there’s any shit on there he actually _recognises_ , or if Billy has a curveball on there from _this_ century.

He doesn’t get far down the list before the phone is snatched away from him.

“Stop,” Billy bites out, white teeth flashing, “stealing my goddamn shit.”

“You know, I would stop stealing it if you just stopped changing the goddamn password,” Steve points out.

“Why the fuck would I wanna do that? I pay for the whole fucking thing,” Billy replies, which is true, because Steve doesn’t lend a cent towards their shared account – but also, fucking rude of Billy to bring that shit up, ‘cause Steve _offered_ to split the cost, but no.

Billy had it covered.

He fucking _insisted_.

“But this is my goddamn playlist – let me access it!” Steve argues.

Billy replies by throwing a sugar cube at his face.

[ _You Make My Dreams_](https://open.spotify.com/track/4o6BgsqLIBViaGVbx5rbRk) by Daryl Hall & John Oates carries on playing when Steve retaliates with a half-eaten Pop Tart.

* * *

“Is this… Madonna?”

“Okay, literally? Go fuck yourself.”

“N-no, don’t leave! I just—”

“Go. Fuck. Yourself.”

“—who fucks to _[Like a Prayer](https://open.spotify.com/track/1z3ugFmUKoCzGsI6jdY4Ci)_?”

“I’m leaving, have fun with your right hand.”

“Billy!”

* * *

Billy is wearing a vintage shirt with Fine Young Cannibals written across it. Steve thinks it's a shirt he sleeps in.

Or a shirt he works out in.

With Billy, he probably wears it for both.

Either way, it's a massive clue for the song that’s currently playing from the playlist that Billy made.

“Is this your way of breaking up with me?” Steve asks, a tease that is two-parts joke and one-part serious. Because, again, they’re not actually dating, but Steve is starting to wonder why all the songs on Billy’s playlist for sex are all so romantic.

He figures Billy fancies someone else and is using Steve to unload some of his shit.

Which is fine.

That’s just _fine_.

Steve will take whatever part of Billy he can take – even if Billy is thinking about someone else.

Billy pauses from where he's sat, filling in their taxes. Billy is _good_ with numbers, so he had taken it up himself to sort out their bills and shit. He’s also good with _words_ , and _DIY_ and asking their scary-ass landlord for extensions to their rent.

Steve?

Steve can cook. And clean.

If they had kids, then he'd be a kick-ass dad too, because he's fucking _great_ with kids, far better than Billy could ever hope to be. But there aren't any kids around, so sometimes… Steve feels a bit _useless_ around the apartment. He _has_ a job, he does – but ice cream parlours don’t bring in as much money as Billy’s garage. Especially because Billy is _smart_ , is good at what he does, and has already been promoted _twice_.

Steve makes sundaes for screaming kids and barely has a cent to his name.

 _Especially_ since his dad had cut him off.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Billy asks, sounding tired and confused. He stares at Steve until he feels _stupid_ , because _god_ , it was just a _joke_. Billy takes everything so goddamn seriously, it’s like, his biggest goddamn flaw.

“The song,” Steve answers, “ _[She Drives Me Crazy](https://open.spotify.com/track/4d6eqRtpDX7tydHJGDZUBQ)_? I've worked out that they're all, like, love songs. It’s cute. So, who is she?”

Billy blinks at him and drops his pencil, his mouth gaping slightly as smoke billows out.

“What the fuck,” he says, again, before he shakes his head and rolls his eyes, “yeah, there’s a fucking girl, some real hot chick who digs Blondie the way she fucking deserves. ‘Cause, y’know, as a _gay fucking man_ , I fucking love me some pussy.”

Steve snorts, despite the ice that fills his veins and infiltrates his heart.

“Don’t be a dick, I was only asking,” Steve says, pursing his lips and wrapping his arms around himself. Billy’s cigarette clings to his bottom lip – they’re not supposed to smoke in the apartment, but when Billy gets stressed, rules get fucked, “like, I know this is more than just some sexy playlist.” Steve purses his lips, “is it a guy then? You can’t get mad at me; you have to admit that this shit is weirdly romantic.”

Billy sighs and stubs his cigarette out on their taxes form; he stands up and strides over to Steve – he looks all purposeful and shit. Like he’s on a mission – Steve almost purrs at the sight.

“Yeah, it’s a boy,” Billy confirms, and the ice in Steve’s heart sinks to his stomach, “a really fucking dumb boy with the prettiest fucking face. Should be illegal, how goddamn pretty he is. But Jesus, do I want to fucking _punch_ him sometimes.”

“Lucky him,” Steve murmurs, shivering when Billy cups his face and leans in close, forcing himself into Steve’s personal bubble like he _lives_ there.

“Yeah,” Billy agrees, sticking his tongue out between his teeth as he eyes Steve with that weird-ass expression. He presses himself up against Steve and drags his tongue across Steve’s lips. “Lucky him.”

Billy captures his lips in a deep kiss and Steve completely forgets whatever it was that they were talking about.

* * *

“Is this [_Uptown Girl_](https://open.spotify.com/track/5zA8vzDGqPl2AzZkEYQGKh)?”

“Do you have any idea how much restraint I am showing by not _punching_ you right now.”

“Threats of violence aren’t conducive to a healthy—"

“ _Conducive_? How the _fuck_ do you know what that word _means_ , you sound like my goddamn therapist!”

“Um, Dustin. Dustin told me it… once.”

“Christ, those fucking kids need to mind their goddamn business.”

* * *

[_Just Can't Get Enough_](https://open.spotify.com/track/0qi4b1l0eT3jpzeNHeFXDT) is playing through the speakers and Steve is just so fucking glad that he actually _knows_ the lyrics to this one.

He’s drunk on rum and high on weed and he’s dancing around the apartment with make-up streaked across his face. Nancy had taken him out for drinks, _just a couple_ , which then turned into _eight_ drinks and _five_ shots, which then turned into them hanging out in her room, listening to The Saturdays and trying to paint each other's nails and faces.

It was because of Nancy’s uncharacteristic taste in music that Steve could even _say_ that he had heard of this song before – though, Billy probably wouldn’t approve of him not hearing the original first.

But.

But Billy _isn’t_ here right now, and Steve had gotten home an _hour_ ago, with Nancy kicking him out due to being tired – Steve though? Steve’s on _fire_.

Steve feels _electric_.

Steve wants to—

“What,” Billy’s unimpressed tone rings loud, cutting across Depeche Mode easily, “the fuck?”

Steve spins and purrs at the sight of his… whatever the fuck Billy is.

“He-ey baby,” he coos, drunkenly picking his way through the mess of clothes and bottles on the floor, towards his… fucking Billy, _his Billy_ , and falls into him with a sigh. “He-ey ba-aby,” he repeats, stressing the words out with a wriggle of his eyebrows.

Billy’s body goes all weird and stiff – his cigarette is caught between the thin line of Billy’s lips. Steve hates it when Billy smokes, especially when it isn’t even weed, and especially when he doesn’t even bother to get _menthols_ , the _heathen_.

“Sharing is caring,” Steve whispers, and snatches Billy’s cigarette from him. Before he even gets the chance to take a drag, Billy’s hand snaps up and grabs his wrist, takes his cigarette back. He looks so, so, so mad. Steve _hates_ mad Billy. He whines at the sight and tries to loop his arms around Billy’s neck. He fails and ends up falling against the blond instead, his hands clinging at Billy’s shoulders. “Don’t be mad – I’ll suck your dick.”

Instead of laughing, or taking him up on his offer, Billy pushes him back, holding one firm hand. He holds his cigarette with the other, takes a deep drag whilst he regards Steve with a cold, unreadable expression.

“Don’t take my shit,” Billy says steadily, “and I don’t fuck drunk boys.”

Steve snorts out a laugh and sways where he stands, his hips slowly drifting towards Billy like a magnet.

“ _Liar_ ,” Steve says, in a sing-song lilt, batting his lashes at Billy playfully, “you fuck me a-all the time when I’m drunk.”

Billy still doesn’t laugh – in fact, he looks even angrier.

“Only when I’m drunk too,” he says, “now tell me, what’s the occasion and why wasn’t I invited?” He gestures to their messy apartment, which is never messy, because Steve _cleans_ like a good housewife. He wonders if that’s how Billy sees him – a dumb housewife who keeps shit tidy and cooks him meals, whilst he goes out and fucks his dumb, pretty fucking boy.

He wonders if he should doll up for the part, dress up all cutesy in skirts and dresses – plaster on some lipstick and fluff his hair up, all soft and shiny – after all, it’s not like he has anything else to fucking do now.

“Steve,” Billy prompts, cupping Steve’s face as he peers at him curiously.

Steve rolls his eyes and leans in close, wrapping his arms around Billy’s neck and pulling the blond against him.

“I,” he whispers against Billy's lips when he gets close enough, “got fired today.”

He snorts and laughs, tightening his hold around Billy’s neck as his legs give out. He's not sure why Billy feels so _rigid_ and _uptight_ , doesn't get why Billy is suddenly petting his hair and sighing like someone has _died_. But Billy is so, so, _so_ _warm_ and he's _holding_ Steve like he's _precious_ and _he matters,_ and it's Steve's absolute _favourite_ version of Billy. He very rarely sees this version; it’s only when Billy is savouring his afterglow or when he’s on the cusp of falling asleep that Steve gets to see him like this.

“You okay?” Billy asks, and his words are _cute_ , but his tone is all _wrong_. He sounds cautious.

He sounds _scared_.

Steve whines in the back of his throat and pulls away, begins stroking Billy’s hair in earnest, because Billy is too _pretty_ and too _lovely_ to be scared – they’ve escaped the storm clouds that were Billy’s psychopathic father and Steve’s neglectful parents, Billy doesn’t _need_ to be scared of _anything_ anymore, so why is he scared now?

Does he… is it ‘cause Steve’s drunk?

Does Billy, like, think he’s gonna hurt him?

The thought wounds Steve something deep and terrible.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he promises, aware that he’s pouting, but he’s just so hurt at the thought of Billy thinking that he could _ever_ hurt him.

“I know baby,” Billy reassures him and Steve’s heart flips something funny at the sweet nickname, “I just need to know where your head is at.”

Steve snort as he gestures to himself, “my head is right here.”

“Mentally, baby,” Billy clarifies patiently, and now he’s rubbing Steve’s arms like he needs to be comforted. It’s _super_ weird.

“Oh what, you my therapist now?” Steve asks, arching a brow as he leans away, totally bemused by the situation.

“Steve.”

“What? Issa joke, _jeez_!”

Billy closes his eyes.

Steve rolls his.

“One, two, three,” he mocks under his breath, dancing out of Billy's arms towards the speakers. Depeche Mode is still flooding out of the speakers. Steve has set the song to play repetitively – he didn't even pause it when their neighbour, Mrs McKinley, began threatening him through the wall.

Nosey bitch needed to lighten up.

“Do _not_ ,” Billy begins, and his voice cold enough to give Steve pause, “mock me about this shit.”

Steve blinks and purses his lips, stumbling back to Billy with a frown on his face.

“No-o baby,” Steve croons, “I ain’t mocking you.” He pats at Billy’s face, stroking through wild curls with a happy hum, “‘cause I wouldn’t dare make fun of you, ba-aby.”

He snorts out a laugh and nuzzles the crook of Billy’s throat with a pitchy moan. Billy smells so fucking good, like spice and smoke. He feels Billy’s arms loop around his waist and Steve sighs happily.

“Sounds like you are,” Billy argues, and his tone is taunting, but it’s with an _edge_ that dares Steve to answer back.

“Don’t be so fuckin’ sensitive,” Steve answer back, because he has zero inhibitions and even less fucks to give, “it doesn’t _suit_ you.”

Billy’s eyes flash and not in a good way.

“Sorry, we can’t all pull off ‘delicate snowflake’ like you, princess,” he sneers.

“You’re such an asshole,” Steve laments, but he presses up closer to Billy’s body, because _yes_ , he is a princess, he’s Billy’s fucking princess and as _fucking_ royalty, he deserves more respect than what he’s getting right now.

“I’m the asshole?” Billy asks, narrowing his eyes as he flicks Steve hard on the ear, “I come back from work and I find you high as fuck, _drunk too_ , and still finding the _balls_ to talk to me like this? I’m trying to fucking _help_ you!”

Steve snorts as his head lolls to the side. “You’re cute,” he says, poking Billy on the nose, “but, like, I don’t _need_ your help. It was a shitty job and the ice cream sucked, so, in case it’s escaped your notice, but I’m havin’ a little _party.”_

“Oh yeah?” Billy asks, and his tone is _cruel_ , “and how are you supposed to pay your half of the rent this month then? You gonna crawl back to daddy? Cause, no offense sweetheart, you ain’t exactly rocking a stellar résumé.”

Steve flinches and glares hatefully at the blond before him.

“So fuckin’ _mean_ ,” he mutters, slurring his words as he pushes Billy away from him. Billy doesn’t expect it, so he stumbles backwards, a stunned expression flicking across his face. “How you gonna expect _any_ pretty boy to fall in love with you? Such an asshole.”

Billy rolls his eyes.

“Don’t start that _bullshit_ with me,” Billy hisses and nope. No. Not okay. Never fucking okay.

Billy knows that Steve hate, hate, fucking _hates_ that word and what it means and what it represents – he _hates_ it and he hates what it did to his and Nancy’s relationship. He hates Billy for bringing it into their argument right now – because if there’s one thing that Steve strives for, it’s for sincerity and authenticity and a _severe lack of goddamn bullshit_ ¸ fuck you Billy Hargrove.

So, he steps back, ignores the way Billy reaches for him, and dances to where his phone is plugged into the speakers.

“Steve,” Billy says, warns, pleads, whatever.

But _fuck Billy_ , Steve decides.

He does look back at him though, as he reaches over and deliberately turns the volume up – it’s a dare, it’s bait, but Billy doesn’t rise to the occasion. Instead, he just looks disappointed and exhausted, stalking over to Steve with a grim face and clenched fists.

He turns the volume down.

“Listen to me, I am trying to be fucking nic—”

“ _Bullshit_ ,” Steve hisses. Turns the volume back up.

Billy blinks, then narrows his eyes, until two painfully blue slits glare directly at him. He turns the volume down and crosses his arms, taking a long drag from his cigarette and blowing all the smoke into Steve’s face.

“Are you disrespecting me, seriously?” Billy asks, like he’s Nathaniel-fucking-Harrington.

Steve snorts.

Turns the volume back up.

Billy scowls and turns it back down.

“You’re acting like a goddamn fucking brat,” he hisses, but it’s not at all playful, like Billy is teasing him during one of their sex games. Like the ones where Steve dresses up all pretty, sits in Billy’s lap and let’s the guy play with him for hours on end. No, right now, Billy is hissing at him like he wants to put Steve down, like a goddamn dog.

“Spank me then,” Steve spits back, because he’s drunk and sad and angry.

“You don’t deserve that shit right now,” Billy says, his tone getting all dangerous, like when counting to ten no longer works and he needs to hit something. Badly.

Steve snorts and rolls his eyes.

“That’s a goddamn _first_ ,” he sasses, “you’re always up for hitting me, you fucking assho—"

“How are you this fucking stupi—”

Billy doesn’t finish, because Steve draws one hand back and soundly slaps him across the cheek. The sharp sound is absurdly loud between them and Steve wouldn’t be surprised if their neighbour overheard it. And distantly, Steve knows he has fucked up on like, a colossal scale, because _they do not hit each other_ ¸ but fuck, Billy _knows_ not to call him ‘stupid’.

He should fucking _know_.

Billy blinks, his cheek red and angry, but his expression is carefully blank.

Steve feels like his entire being could fall apart – that anything Billy says, or does, next, could fucking destroy him.

But Billy doesn’t say _anything_. He just looks at Steve, takes another drag of his cigarette and stalks off to his room. He doesn’t even slam the door shut, but lets it gently close behind him. He leaves Steve behind, in their messy goddamn apartment, _alone_ , with fucking Dave Gahan still warbling behind him.

So, Steve does the only thing he _can_ do.

He flips Billy’s bedroom door off and turns up the volume.

* * *

The next day, Steve, tasting sour rum and feeling bitter guilt, drags himself off the sofa to the kitchen.

At some point during the night, his phone must’ve died, because it is _silent_ in their apartment.

He sniffs and crawls into the kitchen. He makes Cookies ‘n’ Crème Pop Tarts – he idly wonders why they _never_ seem to have the Blueberry Muffin kind because that’s Billy’s absolute favourite flavour, but they never run out of Steve’s – and a coffee that is mostly sugar and cream.

He shuffles to Billy’s door, slumps down against it and scratches at the wood pathetically.

 _Everything_ fucking hurts and he's pretty sure he's got one of Nancy’s false eyelashes clinging to his cheek, but he remembers mostly everything and knows that _he has fucked up_.

If they were dating, then Steve knows that he _definitely_ would’ve been broken up with last night. It would’ve been far worse than Robin and ten times worse than Nancy – Steve doesn’t think he would ever recover from Billy leaving him behind too.

He paws at the door with his pathetic apology breakfast and sighs when he hears Billy's steady footsteps approaching the door. He sits up, holds out the plate and the mug expectantly. He doesn't even _need_ to force the world's most miserable puppy-dog eyes on his face, it just happens naturally. Billy opens the door, and it takes him a second before he looks down and sees Steve.

It’s the _worst_ version of Billy – his eyes are _hard_ , and his face is _cold_. He folds his arms across his bare chest and leans against the doorframe. Steve can see the bags under his eyes and feels even _guiltier_ that he managed to sleep so soundly whilst Billy clearly didn't.

“That’s a good look for you,” Billy says, his voice a wreck as he motions to where Steve is kneeling before him.

“I’m sorry for being a dick,” Steve breathes, the words flying from his mouth before he can consider them carefully.

“Are you?” Billy asks, and Steve can hear the faint incredulity in his voice.

“I made you Pop Tarts?” he says, lifting the plate up pointedly.

Billy scoffs, looks away as he shakes his head.

Steve watches as he swallows – he wonders what Billy is thinking about.

He hopes it doesn’t involve kicking him out.

“You know,” Billy begins, shifting from one foot to the other and he gazes down at Steve, “my asshole dad bought me a car, the first time he punched me. Gave me the keys the day after ‘cause I didn’t tell anyone. He realised that leaving marks raised questions, so he got sneakier. He started slapping me, ‘cause if you treat that shit fast, then nothing gets left behind. He also started gaslighting me – when I still kept quiet, he bought me an earring for Christmas. He hated my piercing, ‘cause it was so fucking _faggoty_. The earring was shaped like a bullet and Max thought it was _so_ _cool_ , ‘cause she didn’t realise that it was a _threat_. Then dad started in on how I wasn’t doing _good_ enough at _school_ , at _sports_ , with _girls_ … every time I fucked up, he would slap me, say shit to fuck with my head and then he’d buy me shit to keep me quiet.”

Steve feels like he’s been dunked in ice.

“Billy,” he says, hushed and fragile, “I would _never_ , this isn’t, I’m _not_ —”

“But you did,” Billy interrupts, “and yeah, I did some fucked up shit too back then. Yeah, I hit you and yeah, _you hit back_ , but we _swore_. We swore that if we did _this_ , then we weren’t gonna fuck around with _that shit_. What was it you said, ‘violence isn't conducive’, or some shit? What, did you _lie_ to me then?”

Steve swallows and shakes his head.

“N-no, Billy, I swear—” he insists, hates that he can feel tears building in the corner of his eyes.

“You know I fucking _hate_ it when you _lie_ ,” Billy spits out, glaring down his nose at him.

Steve suddenly wishes he hadn’t chosen to remain on the floor.

“I’m _not_ lying and you’re _not_ my mom,” he bites back, rearing up onto his haunches, “don’t talk to me like you are!”

Billy snarls and his fingers twitch, before they curl into fists.

“I ain’t your mom, ‘cause I’m pretty sure you’d treat her a hell of lot better than you’ve been treating me lately,” he says, and Steve knows how deliberate Billy gets when he uses his words; he always picks the ones that will garner the strongest reaction, the loudest laugh or the most tears. It’s like his special talent and he knows it.

Steve opens his mouth, closes it again, then ducks his head, ‘cause he isn’t sure what to say to that.

“I know,” he says, admits, because it’s true. He _has_ been a shitty friend to Billy, and honestly? He’s surprised he actually woke up alive. “I said a lot of shit last night that wasn’t… wasn’t fair. Or true. You know that, right? That I was just… shit, what does Dustin call it…? _Projecting_! I was projecting! And I was doing that to _you_ , and it _sucked_.”

Billy nods.

Says nothing.

“Like, getting fired kinda sucked, especially ‘cause it was my own fault, I kept handing out free ice cream to the brats, but like, I wasn’t _mad_? But then Nancy had to pick me up because you were at work and then I realised that you were the only one working now and I didn’t want to put that kinda pressure on you and just be… fuckin’ _deadweight_ and have you looking at me like my dad did and—”

And Billy holds up a hand, looking oddly hurt.

Steve closes his mouth with a clack and waits patiently.

Billy sighs, glances up and peers down the hallway. He seems deep in thought, clearly mulling over whether to kick Steve out now or wait until he’s had enough sleep to supply the energy required to physically throw Steve out of the flat – because Billy can.

Throw Steve, that is.

Normally, it’s onto beds, or against walls, or into the backseat of a car.

Normally, it’s followed by Billy bullying his way into Steve’s personal bubble, taking up all the room and air, until Steve only knows Billy’s body, his voice, his taste, his _everything_.

Now, Steve would do anything for that closeness, to feel like Billy is straining to climb inside his body and burrow in deep – because this distance is stretching and yawning and despite being inches away from each other, Steve has never felt so far away from Billy.

Billy sits, crossing his legs and snatching the plate away from Steve. Eyes them dubiously and glances up at Steve. “Cookies ‘n’ Crème, seriously?” he asks, despite taking one up and taking a sharp bite out of corner.

Steve shrugs. “We don’t have any blueberry ones left,” he explains lamely, ducking his head and sipping at the overly sweetened coffee.

“Fuck,” Billy sighs, running a hand through his blond curls. Steve is hit by the sudden urge of wanting to brush them, the way he used to brush Nancy’s, or even El’s and Max’s whenever he had babysat them. He wants to spoil Billy and pamper him – but he can’t, so he offers up the one thing he can do and keeps quiet. Listens patiently. Waits for Billy to say whatever he needs to say so Steve can start packing up and moving out. “I shouldn’t’ve called you stupid. Because you’re fucking not.”

Steve cocks his and winces as the motion jostles his headache.

“But I am,” he argues, gently, but still, he argues.

Billy sighs and leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs.

“No, you’re _not_ ,” he says, with an air of finality about him. “And I shouldn’t— fuck. Look. You know you shouldn’t hit me or throw shit. Or fucking yell, right?” Billy asks, all patient but not in a way that makes Steve feel stupid or slow.

He nods jerkily and tries to quell the wave of nausea that builds with him.

“Well, I know not to call you fucking stupid, or belittle you, or make you feel like you’re not good enough,” Billy carries on and Steve sniffs and shrugs. Because he’s tired and hungover to argue, because when had they ever agreed to this shit?

“I’m sorry,” he says again, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“I know, baby,” Billy sighs, snapping off another piece of Pop Tart. Steve has never seen anyone eat a Pop Tart sadly before – he thinks he doesn’t like it, so he reaches for Billy’s hand, brings it up to his lips and kisses it sweetly. He then presses the mug of coffee against it, encouraging Billy to take it from him.

“I know it should probably be a given,” Steve says, watching as Billy takes a long sip from the mug, “but I will _never_ fucking hit you again.”

Billy eyes him from over the rim.

“It wasn’t cool, and I should’ve known better, like, even when drunk, I shouldn’t have—” before Steve can spiral, Billy presses a Pop Tart to his lips. Steve obediently opens them and takes a small nibble. Billy watches impassively, keeping the Pop Tart up until Steve has finished a good third of it.

“I know,” Billy repeats, “if you can trust me to not hurt you again, then I can _trust_ you not to fuck up like that too.”

Steve’s heart flutters in his chest – it’s not quite the love confession he’s always dreamed of, but it’s close… it’s actually almost _better_ , to be honest.

“That being said,” Billy continues flippantly, “you ever fucking think about hitting me again, and I will leave. You won’t ever fucking see me again, got it?”

Steve nods jerkily.

“Never,” he promises, leaning across to press a sloppy kiss to Billy’s cheek.

Billy hums and pets at his hair.

They finish the Pop Tarts off together, passing the coffee between them as they silently sit in Billy’s doorway. Steve still feels sick, both from his hangover and from the fact that he had hit Billy, but the feeling is slowly ebbing away – it helps that Billy is basically handfeeding him pieces of Pop Tarts.

When they finally finish their breakfast, Billy holds out a hand, lifts a brow and waits.

“You asking me to dance?” Steve teases, gently because he’s still so wary of upsetting this delicate truce they have formed.

Billy flicks him hard on his cheek. “I’m going back to bed,” he states, “and you’re coming with me. And we’re going to use our goddamn words in future.”

Steve nods again, feeling like one of those dumb animals that people put in their cars; he takes Billy’s hand and allows himself to be dragged up into a standing position. He sways on the spot, but Billy doesn’t let him fall – Billy yanks and Steve follows, until they reach Billy’s bed. It’s then that Billy allows Steve to drop down onto the softest goddamn mattress that minimum wage can buy.

Steve hums and reaches up, pulling Billy down until he’s completely smothered and hidden from the world. Billy snorts and rolls over, but not far – he’s close enough that Steve could probably count every individual eyelash on Billy’s pretty blue eyes.

He swallows as he eyes Billy’s cheek – there’s nothing there, nothing that could indicate that he had been struck yesterday—

— _he realised that leaving marks raised questions, so he got sneakier_ —

—but Steve still purses his lips and leans over to brush his lips gently over the skin, feeling rough stubble scrape against his nose and chin. He feels Billy huff out a breath, feels the hot air against an ear and it makes him shiver.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs against the skin, knows Billy must’ve heard him, because he’s shrugging underneath him and then he’s being yanked and tugged and pushed, until suddenly he’s being spooned by Billy.

“Shut up, I already forgave you,” Billy says, pauses and then nuzzles the nape of Steve’s neck sweetly, “and hey, I don’t _care_ about the money, we’ll be fine. I ain’t your dad, so… don’t worry. ‘Sides, if _Max_ can get a fuckin’ job, pretty sure you can too. I should’t have said that shit about your dad and your résumé. It was shitty of me, I won’t do it again.”

Steve sniff and nods..

“I forgive you too, but I’m still sorry,” he insists.

“Oh my god, it’s fucking fine,” Billy says, and he sounds almost bored, “but if you’re really looking to be punished—”

And Steve shivers, because now all he can think about is Billy’s hand, spanking his ass, or wrapped around his throat, or… even better, tying Steve up and jerking off in front of him. That one was so mean, because Billy had left a vibrating dildo up Steve’s ass, a cock-ring locked around his dick and he jerked off, twice, in front of him.

Hadn’t even allowed Steve the courtesy of coming for, like, _two_ days after that.

 _So_.

He shivers, because if there’s one thing that Billy excels at, it’s punishment.

“—then I’m changing the password to our Spotify,” he finishes.

Something like disappointment takes root in Steve’s heart and spreads like ice throughout his body.

“But my mixtape,” he complains, protesting childishly.

Billy bites him on the ear. “But fucking _nothing_ ,” he says, “now shut up about the goddamn playlist and go the fuck to sleep.”

* * *

Steve’s punishment is lifted three days later.

He rejoices by playing Tiffany’s _[I Think We’re Alone Now](https://open.spotify.com/track/4uvjOKsp7mSjrDhWdkLPBY)_ five times in a row, until Billy tackles him to the ground and wrestles the phone from him.

Steve pouts for four hours when Billy changes their Spotify password again.

* * *

Max comes over for her weekly designated step-sibling bonding time with Billy.

Steve _likes_ Max; he thinks she’s one of the _best_ kids he’s ever babysat and that’s inclusive of the one time she poured bleach into his shampoo. He can’t remember what he had done to deserve such retribution, but it must have been bad.

He wishes he could remember how he fucked up, ‘cause what if he does it again?

Steve shivers at the thought and refocuses on cooking dinner. Max is going through a phase right now where she will only eat Italian food but cannot have red meat. So, Steve bought turkey mince, pasta sheets and some white sauce to make lasagne – he likes to think it’s his speciality dish, but the turkey mince is taking forever to cook and the garlic bread is already done.

Billy had recommended that his next job be something to do with food that he can actually cook himself, and not just scoop. Max had agreed and Steve then hightailed it to the kitchen, ‘cause compliments give him palpitations, and not in a good way.

“You wanna work _where_?” Billy is saying from the next room, eyeing the sheet of paper in his hand with a suspicious glare.

“It’s called _Smash It_ , they’re a record company and they’re _hiring interns_ , Billy, _hiring interns_. If I don’t get it, I will literally die,” Max replies, sounding more heated and intense than a girl her age legally should.

“You know it’s gonna be shit, right?” Billy asks, but Steve watches as he sits down and grabs a pen. He can see Billy’s eyes scanning the paper and he knows that Max isn’t leaving their apartment until her application is solid-fucking-gold. “Like, they’re gonna treat you like shit and will probably pay you in _experience_.”

“I will literally _die_ ,” Max repeats, looming over Billy until her long hair brushes across the table. Billy bats her away and reaches for a pack of cigarettes – whatever Max had written clearly wasn’t great, because Steve recognises that glint in Billy’s eye.

It’s when he _wants_ to say something nasty and cruel, but knows that he can’t.

Steve is kinda proud of Billy’s personal growth and internally vows to fuck him later as a reward. He might even bring out the silk ropes too.

They fall into silence for all of five minutes – the only sounds being Billy’s pen, Max tapping at her phone and Steve layering bolognese, pasta sheets and white sauce into a large pan. He kinda likes the silence, it’s easy and comfortable, makes him feel all domestic and warm. Steve wonders if this is the kinda shit he ought to have had when he was a kid, but he guesses that late is better than never.

Billy doesn’t like the quiet though, doesn’t trust it, doesn’t feel comfortable when he can’t hear anything; Steve knows this and isn’t surprised when the blond pulls out his phone and taps away at it until music starts to flow.

Steve bites back a grin as the beat seeps throughout the apartment.

“Is that,” Max says, wrinkling her nose with disgust, “Soft Cell?”

It’s true, _[Tainted Love](https://open.spotify.com/track/0cGG2EouYCEEC3xfa0tDFV)_ plays and fills the apartment with synthesised beats and scratchy voices. Steve will, grudgingly, admit that he kinda likes this song. He sorta prefers Marilyn Manson’s version, but he prefers existing more, so he chooses against informing Billy.

He turns back to where his lasagne sits and places it into the oven. He then takes out cups and plates and starts setting the kitchen counter for three people.

“What the hell is this?” Max asks, and Steve turns to find her with Billy’s phone, a disgruntled expression on her face. “ _Anthems for a Princess_? Who the fuck is this _princess_?”

“Give it back,” Billy instructs, like a command, but colder.

Max snorts and holds the phone away from him. “They’re all 80s songs too? Jeez, how old are you _grandpa_?”

“Give it back.”

“And they’re all love songs too? Damn, this is _sad_ – Steve, please tell me what the hell this is about!”

Steve hums from where he’s placing cutlery onto the table and shrugs.

“Billy’s got a crush on some boy,” he says absently.

“What?” Max asks flatly.

“Can everyone shut the fuck up?” Billy asks, frustration clear in his voice.

Max’s gaze flicks between Steve and Billy, and her face grows even more confused by the second. Steve isn’t sure what she’s confused by.

“I’m sorry, what?” Max repeats, her brows lifting to her hairline.

“That playlist,” Steve explains, nodding towards the phone, “he made it ‘cause he’s totally in love with this dumb, pretty boy.”

He watches as Max exchanges a look with Billy – she looks… kinda _offended_ , but also amused? Billy just looks tired.

“What?” Max asks, again.

“Yeah, it’s totally weird right?” Steve says, throwing his hands up.

“Billy,” Max says.

“Shut up,” Billy replies, his voice muffled around a new cigarette in his mouth.

“Billy.”

“Don’t start.”

“But. _Billy_.”

“The fuck did I say?”

“But. Like. _Are_ you in love with a dumb, pretty boy?” Max asks, a little hesitant and unsure, and Steve’s mouth is suddenly dry, and his stomach is churning horribly. He doesn’t want to hear the answer, but he does, but he really doesn’t, because what if Billy _is_?

 _In love with some other boy_?

Steve suddenly wants to run and hide, but his body won’t move because he desperately wants to hear Billy’s answer.

“Holy fucking _shit_ , can you shitheads listen to me for one goddamn second, I’m trying to fix this fucking bullshit application and I can’t do that with your goddamn prattle in my ears,” Billy hisses, all stressed and disbelieving, snapping his head up like an irate meerkat. “Christ, what the fuck are you even talking about?”

“We’re talking about how you made this crappy playlist for some dumb, pretty boy,” Max answers easily. Steve can’t talk, can’t move – he’s frozen in time and all he can do is watch and listen for Billy’s answer.

Billy looks at her blankly, before he rolls his eyes and puffs out a cloud of smoke.

“Don’t fucking disrespect me in my own goddamn home,” he says with narrowed eyes, “and don’t call Steve dumb, he’s making you goddamn dinner and— holy fucking shit, now you got me sounding like _dad._ Fuck.”

Billy buries his head in a hand and sighs.

“So… Steve is the only dumb, pretty boy you know?” Max asks, and she’s shooting Steve this weird-ass look, wiggling her eyebrows and smirking widely – he doesn’t get it, so he shrugs and feels oddly wounded when Max just shakes her head at him in disappointment.

Billy groans and throws her a look that is positively _acidic_.

“Like I have fucking time for any other dumb, pretty fucking boy in my life!” Billy seethes, flinging his pen at her – Max snorts as she dodges it easily. He turns, reaches for another and viciously underlines something several times. Billy pauses and turns around again, “and it’s a goddamn playlist for _sex_ , fuck off.” Max pulls a face, sticking her tongue out as she scrunches her eyes, and Steve sighs dreamily, his heart racing in his chest as the horrible feeling in his stomach untangles and spreads into something warmer and more delightful.

“That’s the _most_ romantic thing you’ve ever said to me,” he remarks, batting his lashes playfully. It must a weird kink of his, but whenever Billy is _this_ nice to him, it makes Steve want to crawl under the table and suck Billy’s dick until he’s coming dry.

Billy flips him off and returns to proofreading Max’s application.

Steve sighs again as he starts ladling pieces of garlic bread onto mismatched plates.

He ignores Max gagging in the background.

* * *

“Now, when you said you liked 80s music, _this_ is what I had in mind,” Steve comments, watching with fond eyes as Billy hums Def Leppard’s _[Pour Some Sugar on Me](https://open.spotify.com/track/0PdM2a6oIjqepoEfcJo0RO)_ whilst doing press-ups in their living room.

The real song is playing softly from Billy’s phone.

Steve kinda gets why he added this to their sex playlist.

“Bite me bitch,” Billy mutters, without missing a beat.

Steve hums and slides to the floor, crossing his legs as he sits by Billy’s head.

“Can I have the sugar first?” Steve asks.

Billy snorts and trembles as he lowers his body back to the ground – his arms shake too much, and he falls, and Steve is delighted by the reaction. He leans over Billy’s trembling form, waits for him to flip over so they’re facing each other. Steve brushes back the blond curls and leans down to press a kiss to Billy’s broadly grinning mouth.

“There’s my sugar,” he murmurs, his tongue sneaking out to drag along the seam of Billy’s lips. Billy hums and pushes himself up, until their kiss deepens into something messy and painful – it’s a terrible kiss and Steve doesn’t understand why upside-down kisses are considered romantic, but shit, any kiss with Billy is worth it.

Billy breaks away with a sigh, shuffling himself up until he can rest his head in Steve’s lap. Steve gazes down at him and knows that he probably appears more adoring than he should, but right now, Billy is too soft to resist. He brushes stray curls out of the way and just enjoys himself, as he stares down at Billy and catalogues each tiny part of Billy’s face.

He knows Billy is obsessed with his moles.

He knows he is just as obsessed by the hidden freckles dotted about Billy’s face.

Steve gently brushes one with the pad of his finger – hums happily when Billy leans into the touch, his eyes half-massed and glinting strangely. Steve wants to kiss him again and as he ducks down to kiss that little freckle by Billy’s right eye, Billy reaches up and yanks sharply on his hair.

“Gay,” Billy teases, and pulls Steve back down into another awful upside-down kiss.

Steve laments the ruined moment and wonders why he can’t have nice things.

* * *

“So, about that boy you like—"

“Holy shit, I am so done with this game, stop.”

“—no, I’m curious! Don’t you think he’s gonna get the wrong kinda message with this one?”

“Steve, I said I’m bored with this game.”

“But… this song is called _[I Hate Myself for Loving You](https://open.spotify.com/track/2HXixVqzzm9rEUIMAWzshl)_? Man, _seriously_?”

“Yes, because sometimes _I really fucking do_.”

“Ouch?”

“Fucking— can you just _not_ overthink this shit and come suck my dick? It ain’t gonna suck itself.”

“And you call me the bossy bitch!”

* * *

So, Steve keeps his mouth shut about Billy’s mystery boy.

Tries to not feel too miffed, ‘cause he thought they told each other shit like this. They’ve _always_ told each other shit like this, ever since they made that truce when Max and Lucas began dating; ever since they slowly became friends and evolved into roommates, and _especially_ now that they were fuckbuddies. 

But this must be some serious shit, because Billy ain't budging and he doesn't react when Steve baits him – he just gives him this _look_ , all cool and unimpressed, like Steve is beneath him and not in a sexy way. So Steve stops, but he still wonders. He always, always fucking wonders.

He entertains the thought of trying to investigate into the identity of Billy’s crush, but figures, after Nancy and Jonathan…

Well. Ignorance is bliss, _sometimes_.

So, he moves on with his life, doesn’t pester Billy anymore, and just pretends that _everything_ is perfect.

‘Cause at _this_ point, Steve doesn’t believe he’s gonna have it any better.

* * *

“O-Oh,” Steve sighs, squirming in Billy’s lap.

He’s perched across Billy’s legs, wearing one of Billy’s shirts, straddling the blond with his arms tight around Billy’s neck. Steve’s been sat like this for fucking _ages_ – Billy is busy finishing up their taxes, ‘cause he didn’t get to last time, but he has one hand gripped around a pencil, and the other just caressing and petting Steve’s dick like it’s a goddamn cat.

His fingers keep brushing up the length, playing and teasing. He circles the foreskin, pulling and tugging at it until Steve hisses and bats at him – Billy’s fingers then dance away, drifting down to fondle at Steve’s balls. Humming, Steve shifts, hoping to push them further down, but Billy simply snorts and grabs him firmly, his thumb rubbing quick little circles around the slit.

Steve chokes and throws his head back.

Hates that Billy hasn’t looked at him _once_ since they started this game.

“Billy,” Steve pants, shivering as he feels his orgasm build, like electricity in his groin – it burns and tingles and leaves his body meltingly warm and gooey. He presses up close to Billy, nosing at that little place behind his ear and whimpers, hot and breathless. “Billy, you shitty tease – st-stop being a _dick_!”

Billy doesn’t say anything, just chews on his pen thoughtfully, and carries on with their taxes.

His hand, however, quickly pumps Steve three times—

“F-fuck, yes!”

—before he stops and wraps his hand _tight_ around the base of Steve’s dick.

Steve chokes, whines and hits at Billy’s shoulder, frustration burning in his groin and in the corner of his eyes. Billy hasn’t teased him like this for weeks – only ever did it as a punishment, but Steve knows he hasn’t done anything wrong, so he’s a little pissed with how long Billy is taking.

It doesn’t even take him this long to fill in the damn _paperwork_!

Swallowing hard, Steve buries his face into the crook of Billy’s neck – he bites down hard and is swiftly punished by a brutal flick of Billy’s wrist. He soothes the pain with his tongue, laving over the skin gently – a silent apology. He’s rewarded with three slow, but firm, pumps, but it isn’t enough.

It’s never enough.

Billy always enjoys pushing Steve to the precipice of pleasure – he enjoys it more than watching Steve fall over the edge, melting into the orgasm with tears down his face and shivers racking his form.

“I-I-I— _oh_ , Billy!” Steve gasps, pressing his legs tighter together. Billy is back to teasing him now, playing with his balls with a barely-there brush of his fingertips. Steve swallows down his growl of frustration, tries to mentally collect himself, gather his thoughts and— suddenly, his attention is drawn away from being in Billy’s lap, as the background music registers in his mind. His gaze drifts towards Billy’s phone, a slight frown on his lips, “i-is this… that song from _The Breakfast Club_?”

It is and Steve is quite pleased with himself for recognising _another_ song on Billy’s playlist.

Simple Minds’ [_Don’t You (Forget About Me)_](https://open.spotify.com/track/4aWn4NHlELpOehxsBaQeoe) slowly filters through the air, seeping into Steve’s skin – he likes this song, _likes_ the message.

Billy shrugs, finally breaking away from his paperwork to look up at Steve with a wry expression in his eye. “Might be,” he says airily, like it’s not a _big_ deal.

“I like it,” Steve breathes, nosing at a loose curl that hangs by Billy’s temple. “Suits us,” he adds, strangely honest in Billy’s lap with a warm hand feeling so _hot_ wrapped around him.

He feels Billy tense underneath him – wonders if he thinks the same, if he sees himself in Bender, as Steve does in Claire. If Billy ever feels like thrusting his fist in the air because of Steve. But then he remembers that this isn’t really _his_ playlist, and that Billy has someone else in mind to be the Claire to his Bender.

Steve sniffs and steels himself, quelling his misery and storing it away for when he’s alone.

He pulls away and furrows his brows at the odd expression on Billy’s face. Steve nudges at him, prompts him to break away from whatever reverie he was stuck in – Billy blinks as he returns to earth, and a slow, _wicked_ smile curls on his lips.

Steve shivers and his dick jumps in Billy’s grip.

“Oh yeah?” Billy asks, fingering Steve’s slit gently, “you gonna forget about me princess?”

Steve throws his head back and laughs, honest and loud.

“I don’t think I could _ever_ forget about you, Billy Hargrove,” Steve murmurs, shivering when Billy’s fingers grasp firmly around his dick. They’re dangerous words, too close to the truth, too close to how he really feels, but then Billy is _smiling_ at him, all soft and dreamy, and Steve realises that no matter how mortified he feels, it’s so fucking _worth_ it.

He’s rewarded with the best handjob of his _life_ , as well as five new hickeys across his throat.

* * *

Mrs McKinley has a _granddaughter_.

Steve _knows_ that Mrs McKinley has a granddaughter, because they get stuck in the elevator together for fifteen minutes. She’s _cute_ , in the way that Robin is cute, but… _edgy_ , kinda like Nancy. If Steve had never met Billy, he would have fallen for her in an instant… but he does know Billy, so Steve keeps his distance, but remains polite.

Her name is Alice, but Steve can call her Ally and she’s staying with her grandmother for a whole week, just helping her out around the place, hence the groceries, and she never went to college, just like Steve, and if he wants, Steve can come ‘round and they can get to know each other a little better.

She’s 420-friendly and ships absinthe in from Europe.

She also _hates_ 80s music.

Steve had learned all this in the first ten minutes of them meeting – he had been coming back from a diner date with Dustin, and she had been busy shopping for Mrs McKinley. They had only started talking because she could hear George Harrison crooning _[Got My Mind Set on You](https://open.spotify.com/track/3OeUlriM0EZHdWleJtjoVr)_ out of Steve’s headphones. He _had_ wanted to explain that it wasn’t his music, but then he would’ve had to explain who Billy was, and.

Explaining Billy?

Needs far more time than a broken-down elevator could provide.

Still, when it finally gets fixed, they walk out together, laughing and joking about how lame U2 is, but how they could respect Blondie for what she did for rock. Steve is carrying one of her bags and Ally is leaning against him because her shoe is slipping off and then any concept of a conversation is killed off by a sharp cough.

Steve glances down the corridor and blinks.

Billy is stood outside their door, key in hand, wearing dirty overalls. Steve swallows, because dirty, greasy Billy is a fucking _dream_ in bed. He loves rolling around in bed with Billy still wearing his overalls, getting his sheets filthy in a way that would make Maria Harrington faint – he loves pinning Billy to his bed, seeing the contrast between his dirty body and the clean bedding and god. Steve wants him so bad.

He glances across to Ally and smiles sweetly.

“Hey, can we rain check?” he suggests, passing Ally’s groceries back carefully. She’s staring at Billy with an unreadable expression, so Steve clears his throat pointedly; she refocuses her attention onto him instantly and Steve feels like he can breathe a little easier with her not looking at Billy. Ally is really fucking pretty and the kinda girl that would totally suit being with Billy – Steve has to remind himself that Billy is gay at least _three_ times mentally before his irritation is quelled.

“Yeah, sure,” Ally says, taking back her groceries with a bright smile, “I’ll see you later, yeah? You have my number, so… hit me up?”

“Yeah, cool,” Steve says distantly, his attention already lost as Billy’s jaw clenches. Billy looks fucking mad and Steve is frustrated because he really doesn’t get what he’s done now. He’s already repented for smacking Billy, so…

What the fuck?

“Later,” Ally trills, and she disappears behind Mrs McKinley’s door.

She leaves behind a thick layer of tension that grows between Billy and Steve; it’s suffocating and Steve sighs irritably. Billy clucks his tongue, unlocks their door and swings it open.

“ _In_ ,” he bites out, commanding and sharp.

Steve flinches, but hurries on inside before Billy gets the idea to lock him out. Billy follows him, slamming the door shut behind him – he tosses his keys to the side and stalks across the living room. Steve stays put, caught between following Billy and hiding out in his room – it’s what he used to do when his dad came home angry, but Billy isn’t his dad and Steve isn’t a child, so he shouldn’t be so fucking scared right now.

He is though.

A voice that sounds oddly like Will and Dustin combined, informs him that he shouldn’t be scared in a relationship – it isn’t _healthy_.

But… does that shit count if he’s not in a relationship?

Steve sighs and folds his arms, wrapping them around himself as Billy marches into the room, a cigarette held tight in his hand. Steve swallows as Billy stops, mere inches away from him. He takes a deep drag and the smoke billows out of his mouth, hitting Steve in the face.

“What,” Billy says, delicately, silkily, “the fuck was that?”

Steve blinks.

“What?” he asks, dumbly, he knows, because he _knows_ what Billy is asking about.

“That chick,” Billy clarifies, deliberately hissing out the words, “what the fuck were you doing with her?”

Steve tilts his head and holds himself tighter.

“Ally?” he asks.

Billy almost _snarls_ around his cigarette.

“You planning on fucking her?” Billy snaps, _mean_ and _crude_ , like he’s trying to stab Steve with his words. Steve swallows and frowns – he gets that Billy is a possessive asshole, but this is just fucking ridiculous. Steve wasn’t planning on even touching her, probably won’t even talk to her again. Logically, he could tell Billy this, could have a nice, calming talk about how she doesn’t even blip on his radar but… but Steve is tired.

He is so fucking _tired_.

So, he decides to let his anger do the talking instead.

“What’s it to you?” he asks, snippy and mocking, “you don’t have the goddamn monopoly on who gets to fuck me.”

Billy recoils, which honestly surprises Steve – he hadn’t even flinched when he had slapped him.

He also looks hurt.

Steve blinks and wonders if he’s made a mistake somehow.

“You _want_ to fuck her?” Billy asks, dangerously quiet, “what? You miss pussy that much? Is that it? Or maybe you miss what chicks can give you? Is that it, Harrington?”

And now it’s Steve’s turn to flinch, because holy shit, he’s fucked up.

He never gets called _Harrington_ anymore.

Not even when he stole Billy’s stupid Lush products.

“Billy,” Steve says, cautiously, “what the hell is wrong with you?”

Billy’s body goes all rigid and stiff, his eyes wide with angry disbelief. Steve knows that he is literally seconds away from being punched – logically, he knows that Billy would never hit him, but he kinda wants Billy to hit him right now. Just to give him a reason to truly hate the asshole and move on from this bullshit.

“You do _not_ get to ask me that shit, when I’ve just seen you with a goddamn chick, flirting up a fucking storm and then saying, out loud to my _fucking_ _face_ , that you want to _fuck_ her,” Billy states, his eyes hard and cold.

Steve feels confused and exhausted and he just doesn’t get why Billy is so _mad_.

“So what if I want to fuck a girl, what’s it to you?” Steve asks with a shrug, because seeing Billy’s frustration just feeds into his own and now, he just doesn’t care anymore. Because Billy doesn’t get to be so fucking possessive of him, when he doesn’t even _love_ him, or cares enough to fucking _date_ him, and now he thinks he has the _right_ to dictate who Steve gets into bed with?

“You don’t even _like_ me,” Steve carries on, because he’s on a fucking roll, “you’re only fucking me ‘cause you can’t get with that dumb, pretty fucking boy you’re so obsessed with!”

And Billy gets madder at that, because his eyes widen and his jaw clenches harder.

“Like, holy shit! You made him a goddamn mixtape and you _fuck_ me to it! Maybe, _maybe_ I do want to fuck Ally, ‘cause at least she won’t be thinking of someone else!”

And Billy’s mouth falls open.

“I’m so sick of just being someone else’s fucking replacement!”

And Billy’s body is starting to tremble.

But shit.

Steve is so fucking mad now, because Billy has no right. No fucking _right_.

“You can’t get mad, because—”

“I _can_ get mad, because we’re fucking _dating_! We’ve been dating for fucking months, Jesus Christ,” Billy seethes, his blue eyes frigid, “you _are_ the dumb, pretty boy I’m obsessed with! Fuck, I thought you fucking _knew_ this!” And he flicks out his phone and taps away at the screen.

Steve blinks, shock freezing his entire system.

Scorpion’s [_Rock You Like A Hurricane_](https://open.spotify.com/track/46QazXxQS0B31CnbRCy8CV) thunders throughout the apartment – it’s one of Billy’s _favourites._

And.

And it’s oddly weird how everything just slowly slots into place.

Because. Well. Steve really should’ve connected these goddamn dots earlier.

That stupid fucking playlist. Billy put it together for Steve, for dumb, pretty Steve. Because the playlist wasn’t just for sex… it was. It was for _everything_. Because he wanted— wants? —wanted everything from _Steve_. It was a mixtape and it was full of love songs and Steve can feel himself _break_ because. Well.

Because Billy is in _love_ with Steve.

And he thought they were _dating_.

Like, like they were _dating_ and _together_ and _monogamous_ and shit. Fuck, he thought Steve thought they were dating too, thought they were together and totally in love and—

Which, duh, Steve does _love_ him, except.

Steve’s kinda fucked everything up.

Shit.

* * *

Billy leaves later that night, taking a change of clothes but not his cigarettes.

Steve burns each one because they smell like Billy and because Steve is a sad, sad, _sad_ boy.

* * *

Steve then finds out, three hours later, that Billy has changed the password, _again_ , on their Spotify.

* * *

Max sends him a text. It’s mostly curses words and threats; it’s also four pages long.

She threatens to scalp him.

She threatens to bleach his hair again.

Threatens to set his hair on fire.

Steve starts worrying if there’s a reason as why they’re all hair-based, until he suddenly gets hit by the memory of Max bleaching his hair back when she was fourteen. And he finally fucking remembers what he did to deserve the punishment – he had been asked to fuck, marry and kill Billy, Nancy and Jonathan.

He had picked the wrong boy to kill, mostly because he had been terrified of Billy finding out his true feelings, and Max had made sure to let him know the gravity of his mistake.

Steve wonders if it’s healthy for one guy to be so obsessed and consumed with another for so long; then he realises that he doesn’t care. He only wants Billy. Billy’s clearly loved him for-fucking-ever, and _Steve_? Steve was fucking blind to have missed all that shit – from his mixtape playlist, to the way Billy looks at him, to the fact that they never run out of his favourite flavour of Pop Tart.

Steve swallows and realises just how good he had it with Billy.

He curls up into a tighter ball in bed and taps a finger against his lip.

Starts planning on how to win Billy back. Vows to never let him get away again.

He blindly grabs for his phone and loads up Google to dive into the world of trashy songs from the 80s.

* * *

As Steve falls asleep, phone pressed against his face, he remembers the dumb conversation that started all this shit—

_“Hey Steve?”_

_“Hmmmm…?”_

_“Wanna, like, make a go of this shit?”_

_“Sounds good.”_

_“Fucking yeah, seriously?”_

_“Hell yeah, now shut up and spoon me, I’m fucking tired.”_

—his last thought, as he loses consciousness, is that they’re a pair of goddamn fucking idiots.

* * *

It’s so unfair how Max’s place is so much nicer than theirs.

She lives by herself in the nicest part of town _and_ her elevator _talks_.

Steve frowns at it as it announces, “you have arrived.”

The door slides open, revealing the tidiest and cleanest corridor Steve has ever seen in an apartment block. There’s even _art_ on the walls. Sweat gathers at the nape of his neck and his stomach churns through his feelings of fear and worry. He slowly makes his way down to the corridor towards number twenty-seven; it’s amazing, she has both numbers still on the door and it looks clean.

Steve hasn’t seen that shit since he last lived with his parents.

He licks his dry lips and swallows around the lump in his throat. Before he loses his nerve, he reaches up and raps twice on the door before he folds his arms across his chest. Steve can hear two voices, muffled, arguing behind the wood and his stomach flips. Footsteps approach the door and Steve wildly wonders if he’s quick enough to duck back into the lift.

He isn’t, because Max is opening the door.

She looks up at him and glares.

“You fucked up,” she announces.

Steve nods jerkily.

“Can I talk to him?” he asks, even though he can easily pick her up and move her out of the way. He wouldn’t though, because despite all the tension and the strife between Billy and Max, she has grown to be incredibly protective of him.

She slightly scares Steve, but in a good way; like, if she killed him, he would accept it, because he most like deserved it.

Max huffs and crosses her arms, mirroring Steve with a firm frown on her face.

“I can’t believe you didn’t know you were _dating_ him,” she says, shaking her head because he’s clearly disappointed her, “like, that’s some crappy rom-com level shit, y’know?”

Steve nods, because he does know.

Max shakes her head again, her long red hair swishing around her.

“I’ll go grab him,” she says, but her glare intensifies for a second, “but don’t mess this up again! You’re _ruining_ my friendship with _Dustin_.”

With that, she slams the door in his face.

Steve blinks and remembers that he should probably text Dustin, let him know not to worry. That he’s got this.

In hindsight, Steve realises that Dustin would probably worry _more_ if he heard that.

Still, he needs some backup, just in case.

Just as he pulls out his phone, the door open, again – Billy appears, wearing a pair of sweatpants and nothing else. Steve would have appreciated the sight more, but Billy looks so _mad_. His blond curls are scooped back, allowing his frosty blue eyes to glare directly at Steve unobstructed.

It’s incredibly inappropriate, because Steve knows he is staring, and he is obviously very turned on, but _fuck_.

He wants Billy so damn much.

“Hey,” he utters, soft and halting.

Billy rolls his eyes and his lips curl back with a snarl.

“Fuck off Harrington,” he hisses, and slams the door in Steve’s face.

Steve blinks.

Realises that Plan A was a bust, which he kinda knew from that start anyways, so he _has_ to go with Plan B; he hasn’t really prepared himself _mentally_ or _physically_ for Plan B, but he’s desperate and he wants Billy and he cannot let Billy leave him now. He grabs his phone out of his pocket and opens the list of songs he had saved last night.

Steve sighs in the corridor, glances left and right, with sweaty clenched fists and a prickly skin. Checks his song-list and takes a deep breath.

Clears his throat.

In a halting, scratchy voice that couldn’t possibly hold a tune, Steve begins to sing.

It’s Pat Benatar’s _[Love Is A Battlefield](https://open.spotify.com/track/0viZ7D81W8pD65TkzaFkXT)_ and he’s suddenly wishing that he actually listened to the songs properly before picking them. He had just made an attempt at memorising the lyrics and had hoped that they would stick – but now, in front of Max’s actual fucking door with Billy right behind it, the words are escaping him and he can’t quite remember what the tune is, but he’s heard of Jordin Sparks’ [_Battlefield_](https://open.spotify.com/track/4hJNA7VCBfNDly2Lz1SKAt), so it can’t be that different, right?

Clearly, he fucks up _worse_ than he envisioned, because Billy opens the door with the most unimpressed expression on his face.

“Are you literally _fucking_ with me right now?” he asks, and Steve flushes and pauses. Shrugs, because he isn’t? “If you think for one goddamn second, that you are gonna woo me with a shitty rendition of my mom’s favourite song, then you know where the emergency fucking exit is.”

He slams the door in Steve’s face.

Bon Jovi’s _[You Give Love A Bad Name](https://open.spotify.com/track/0rmGAIH9LNJewFw7nKzZnc)_ slowly plays from behind the door – it’s muffled, but even Steve recognises Bon-fucking-Jovi. He consults his list of trashy 80s bops again and finds another song: The Human League’s _[Don’t You Want Me](https://open.spotify.com/track/3L7RtEcu1Hw3OXrpnthngx)_. Last night, he had found it on Youtube and realised that he had hit the jackpot – that if shit was hitting the fan, then at least Steve had a sure-fire way of getting Billy’s attention.

Besides, he knows this song.

He _knows_ this song.

He fucking knows _this_ song.

Even without Googling the lyrics.

Steve throws all caution to the wind, throws his head back and starts singing.

His voice is shit, he knows he can’t sing, can’t hold a goddamn note, but he will stand here all fucking night if it gets him Billy’s attention. So, he sings, _loud_ , and is slightly surprised that Max’s neighbours haven’t come out yet to tell him to shut the fuck up.

Steve’s pretty sure Mrs McKinley would have stabbed him with her knitting needles by now – but Mrs McKinley isn’t here, so Steve bolsters on. Changes the lyrics to includes Billy’s name; gets really into it and starts dancing on the spot, and hopes Billy is watching him from the peephole.

He almost finishes the song when Bon Jovi is suddenly _silenced_.

Steve decides to carry on.

The door swings open and Max stands there, eyebrows raised to her hairline as she gazes disbelievingly at her brother’s stupid fucking _boyfriend_. If he still gets to be Billy’s boyfriend, that is.

Steve’s gaze drifts past her – he still sings, but louder, more insistent.

“Billy!” Max shrieks, “he’s being a menace! If I get kicked out, I _will_ be moving in with you!”

The threat seems to work, as Billy comes thundering to the door, pushing Max behind him so he can glare at Steve – his blue eyes are blazing, and Steve’s heart is caught in his throat, but he _carries the fuck on_.

“ _Don’t you want me, Billy! Don’t you love me, ooooh_ ~!” Steve warbles, grinning when Billy’s eye begins to twitch.

“ _Don’t, don’t you want me? You know I can’t believe it, when I hear that you won’t see me_ ~!” Steve carries on, his voice getting raspier with every word he belts out. Billy’s jaw ticks and Steve knows that he’s close to breaking.

“ _It’s much too late to find, when you think you’ve changed your mind. You’d better change it back or we will both be sorry_ ~!” Just as Steve opens his mouth to begin the chorus, Billy slams his hand across Steve’s lips. For a split second, Steve wants to carry on singing anyway, but his throat is aching, and Billy looks pissed, so he settles for licking Billy’s palm.

Just as he predicted, Billy snatches his hand back and scowls.

“I’ll be sorry, huh?” he says, “what the fuck Steve?”

What the fuck Steve, indeed.

“I love you,” is what he says, panting lightly because he literally just poured all his energy into that terrible cover of _Don’t You Want Me_. “I _love_ you and I fucked up. I thought… I don’t know. I was stupid. I just. I love you, okay?”

Billy sighs, his fingers twitching by his sides.

Steve knows he’s itching for a cigarette, probably hasn’t had the time to buy more and besides, Max’s place doesn’t let people smoke indoors – still, Steve wishes he had picked up a pack on the way. Like Billy always picks up a pack of his favourite Pop Tarts. And how Billy always picks up Steve’s favourite flavour of lube.

And how Billy always picks up Steve’s fucking messes because Billy is a great boyfriend and Steve?

Steve is fucking _bullshit_.

“I love you,” he says, firmly, but his voice breaks on the word, “and I know we have a _lot_ of shit to talk about and I know that, like, I _suck_ at this shit, but I know that I love you? Can’t… can’t that be enough, for now? For you to come home? ‘Cause it sucks right now and I fucking love you and I want you home.”

Billy doesn’t move an inch.

Steve swallows and almost whines.

“Please, Billy. I’m so goddamn sorry – I didn’t know we were dating, okay? I just thought we were messing around, y’know? Without messing around with other people, and fuck, I _never_ wanted to mess around with Ally, and _yeah_ , I get that _I_ was the dumb, pretty boy who got his fucking princess playlist and I should’ve twigged that crap sooner, but. But. But I just didn’t think… that. Well. You could love… me?” Steve finishes lamely, ducking his head with sigh.

Billy remains silent.

“I just. I’m sorry,” Steve says, like a broken goddamn record, “okay? I just fucking love you. And I didn’t think you could love me back so I just took what I could get and now,” Steve glances up, tears prickling at his eyes as he sniffs back a sob, “now I just can’t let you go. I let Nancy go. And Robin go. But you… you’re mine. And that ain’t changing for anything.”

He swallows around the lump in his throat and clenches his fists – wills his tears to disappear, because Billy doesn’t react well to Steve crying outside the bedroom. He gets all uncomfortable and frustrated, tries to hard to make Steve happy again, before he inevitably fails and just _leaves_ until Steve texts him that he’s okay again.

Right now, though?

Steve had been prepared for the door to slam in his face again, but as he glances at Billy, he feels his heart flutter delicately in his chest. Billy’s gaze has gone all soft and his body has just… melted on the spot.

He looks sad, but like, _happy_ too?

It’s really fucking weird, but Steve could practically float on how much hope he’s feeling.

“Do you plan on serenading the shit outta me all night?” Billy asks, cocking his head as he runs a hand through his thick curls.

“Well, I haven’t had the chance to sing Dead or Alive yet,” Steve says, quickly playing along as he thinks of all the ways he could fuck up _[You Spin Me Right Round (Like A Record)](https://open.spotify.com/track/7uHO4AmKtyGa5v5fsElGoC)_.

Billy pulls a face, shakes his head.

“Or would you like a little [Deniece Williams](https://open.spotify.com/track/4VyU9Tg4drTj2mOUZHSK2u)?” Steve suggests, swaying closer to Billy as he pitches his voice and bats his lashes, “ _My baby, he don’t talk sweet, he ain't got much to say, but he loves me, loves me, loves me. I know that he loves me anyway_ ~” he sings, his gaze flicking away from Billy’s face as he tries to remember the lyrics. He’s probably ruining the tune, but Billy has never looked so… soft before.

His lips are twitching into a smile and he’s ducking his head with a cute blush that creeps his throat. It coats his cheeks and Steve wants to kiss them desperately. Wants to feel that flushed skin under his lips and his tongue and his teeth – wants to hoard all of Billy’s blushes for himself.

He sways closer, until he crosses the doorway and he’s invading Billy’s personal space – he can feel the heat from Billy’s body and has to fight the urge to lean against him. He’s not sure if his touch would be welcome, so Steve stays mere inches away from Billy, rocking his hips from side to side, batting his lashes playfully.

“ _He ain’t got much to say,_ ” Steve sings, low and quiet, his heart pounding in his chest. Billy’s eyes flutter and Steve wonders if the blond is about to swoon. “ _I know that he loves me anyway_.”

Billy snorts softly and glances up at Steve; once again, Steve is stunned by how goddamn pretty Billy can be. His lips are wet, red and flush… the way they get when Billy chews on them until they almost bleed, but they never do because Steve always nudges him until he stops. Billy’s pupils are blown open, ringed by an icy-blue circle, and Steve almost breaks, almost wraps his arms around Billy, taking him into his arms and never letting him go.

Lucky for him, Billy can read his goddamn _mind_.

“Oh, I got _plenty_ to say,” he says, arching a brow as he tugs Steve towards him, “but I _do_ love you anyway.”

Steve sighs into their kiss and carefully ignores Max, who gags loudly behind Billy.

* * *

Steve gapes.

“Oh shit.”

Billy flushes and Steve is even more delighted by the fact that he’s _finally_ seen flustered Billy.

“Fuck off,” Billy bites back.

“Oh shit,” Steve repeats, as he starts playing the song.

“Fuck off,” Billy says again, more heated than before.

“ _Babe_ ,” Steve says, with a hushed tone, “you added [Rick Astley](https://open.spotify.com/track/4uLU6hMCjMI75M1A2tKUQC)?”

“Get out of my life.”

Steve snorts, and rolls across the bed, until he’s plastered against Billy’s back in bed.

“Never gonna give me up, huh?” he teases, utterly in love with the prickly boy beneath him.

Billy sighs and twists himself over, until he’s facing Steve with an arched brow and a faint smirk. The expression used to unnerve Steve, but now he knows what it means, what Billy is trying to say when he looks at Steve like that. Billy reaches up, buries his fingers into the thick mess of Steve’s hair and huffs out a laugh.

“Never,” he says, like a promise, and really, how could anyone expect Steve to resist him, looking this soft and saying words so sweet?

* * *

“What the fuck is _this_ ,” Billy says, two weeks later, on a day that _could_ have been their anniversary, except Billy was adamant that the day couldn’t possibly count – in his own words, if Steve hadn’t known they were dating, then what made that day so _fucking_ special?

Except, Steve can read between the lines, _sometimes_ , and he knows that Billy is still licking his wounds, that the hurt still lingers and sometimes, Billy looks at him and he gets that crease between his brows, as if he’s reassuring himself that Steve really was there, he wasn’t going to lose him again.

And Steve may be a bullshit boyfriend, but he was _great_ at romance – it helps that he _wasn’t_ born last century, so his music choices are pretty _stellar._

 _[High Enough](https://open.spotify.com/track/1D9HQactbJoUudf9B119Y5)_  by K.Flay slowly fills the air as Billy presses play.

“It’s a mixtape,” Steve says, kinda proud, but also kinda like Billy’s just asked what colour the sky is, “from _this_ century,” he adds, yelping when Billy shoves him off the kitchen counter. “Violence,” he states, quoting Dustin again, “does _not_ belong in a healthy relationship.”

Billy snorts. “You know your safeword,” he replies coolly.

Steve purses his lips and kicks at him.

Billy skips a few tracks, lands on [_I Think I’m In Love_](https://open.spotify.com/track/3U1TuSqHIubBA10cVP7Sk6) by Kat Dahlia. He turns to Steve and raises a brow as he listens carefully to the lyrics. Steve flushes and folds his arms across his chest, all at once _shy_ and _embarrassed_.

“If you don’t think this is our anthem,” he says rigidly, “then please _get out_ of my life.”

Billy snorts, his eyes are sparkling and Steve falls deeper in love with this ridiculous boy. Billy looks delighted, _flattered_ , and Steve feels slightly cheated because he had hoped to make Billy all cute and flustered again.

Guess he’ll have to try harder.

“At least there's no Billie fuckin’ Eilish,” he says, and Steve is instantly offended on her behalf and he _knows_ Billy can see his hackles visibly rising, because his sharp grin gets even sharper.

“You don't _deserve_ Billie Eili—” Steve begins, but he doesn't get to finish, because Billy ducks in quick and presses his lips to his, a hint of tongue tickling at his lips – Billy pulls away before Steve can melt into it though, and returns to flicking through the playlist with a soft snort.

“Well shit. Now I have to buy you a goddamn tiara, you fuckin’ _princess_. Fuckin’ Studio Killers’ _Jenny_? Seriously? Can you get any more fuckin’ obvious— oh _shit_ , is Avril on here? Princess, you _gotta_ tell me if fuckin’ _Avril_ is on here!” Billy prods at him with a shit-eating grin.

“She isn’t,” Steve replies sulkily.

“What a fuckin’ shame. God, you've got the _weirdest_ fuckin’ taste.”

“Says the boy stuck in the 80s.”

“At least I’m consistent.”

“You mean _predictable_?”

And _oh_ , Billy does _not_ like being called _that_. 

“I’m predictable?” he asks, “you’ve got fucking Fall Out Boy on here,” he’s talking about _[Heaven’s Gate](https://open.spotify.com/track/5smLKfv8DYgPa2Av1lso5f)_ and Steve isn’t ashamed to admit that he has fantasies of them dancing to that song at their future wedding, “and I’m the goddamn predictable asshole around here?”

Steve pouts and swears to never tell Billy that he thinks about marrying him.

“Oh shit, _[Drunk in Love](https://open.spotify.com/track/6jG2YzhxptolDzLHTGLt7S)_ , seriously?” Billy snorts, his hair shaking behind him as he throws his head back and barks out a laugh.

Steve changes his mind, swears to buy a ring and make this boy his _forever_.

“[ _Lovefool_](https://open.spotify.com/track/7aQjPecQdIuNd1sz3KCDhD)? Baby, does this make you my Juliet, ‘cause I gotta say, that shit ain’t as romantic as you think.”

Steve rolls his eyes and suffers happily through Billy mocking him.

“Jesus Christ, there’s like, four fuckin’ Adele songs in a row? You ain’t gonna give me Avril, but you’ll drown me in goddamn Adele? What the fu—”

“ _Okay_ , I’m changing the password,” Steve declares and pounces, tries to snatch the phone away from Billy who ducks away from him easily.

“Fuck off, I pay for this shit,” Billy replies, dodging Steve’s arms like he’s being paid for it.

They’re laughing and _flirting,_ and Steve is _living_ for this shit.

He fails to get the phone back, but he doesn’t care, because at some point, Billy’s fallen back onto the sofa with Steve neatly tucked between his legs. They’re tightly wound together, all wrapped up and _close_ and Steve has never been fucking happier. Billy has a tight grip on his phone and the other is tucking locks of hair behind Steve’s hair – his blue eyes are soft and practically glowing, and Steve just wants to stay here for the rest of his goddamn life.

He ducks down and presses three kisses to Billy’s lips, soft and teasing, with little nips to let Billy know that there’s more to come. Billy literally melts underneath him, and Steve can _feel_ him moan as it rumbles through his chest.

“Baby,” Billy sighs against his lips, “what are you _doing_ to me?”

Steve grins.

“It’s not what I want to do to you, but what I want you to do to me,” Steve murmurs, brushing their noses together. Billy wrinkles his and it’s so fucking cute that Steve licks it, just to see Billy wrinkle his nose again.

“Fucking pillow princess,” Billy mutters, but it sounds fond, as he swipes his nose clean, “but go on, what the fuck do you want me to do?”

Steve bites his lip and grins.

“I want you to fuck me,” Steve says, reaching over Billy’s face to take his phone back; he flicks through his playlist, “to _this_ song.” It lands on Glitch Mob's [_Between Two Points_](https://open.spotify.com/track/6Po0JDs8vPuZOCF7RLbtUE) and as the beat begins to play, Billy’s eyes _darken,_ and his lips slowly curl upwards. Steve _loves_ this song, makes him feel all _sexy_ and _coquettish…_ it makes him want to dress up in lingerie and drape himself across a chaise in a room full of smoke, one hand wrapped around of a glass of wine, the other playing with his dick and yes, _okay_ , it’s a very oddly _specific_ fantasy, but it’s one that Steve likes to think about, when he’s by himself and feeling mopey.

Steve’s not quite sure he’s ready to tell Billy about his little daydream – he knows that Billy would _definitely_ try to make it happen, can tell just from how dark his eyes get at even the mere suggestion of getting to fuck Steve, but still.

“Oh baby,” Billy purrs.

Hm. Maybe for his birthday then.

“Now that,” Billy continues, his voice dark and low with promise, rumbling in that deep way that Steve can feel in his goddamn bones, “I _can_ do.”

* * *

They get seven minutes into foreplay when One Direction’s [_What Makes You Beautiful_](https://open.spotify.com/track/4cluDES4hQEUhmXj6TXkSo) starts to play. Billy pulls away from Steve, disgust written across his face, and he leaves Steve’s room without another word.

It takes Steve three hours, two boxes of Blueberry Muffin Pop Tarts and a harrowingly tone-deaf rendition of A-ha’s _[Take on Me](https://open.spotify.com/track/2WfaOiMkCvy7F5fcp2zZ8L)_ , before Billy finally opens his door and forgives his boyfriend.

He still doesn’t tell Steve the new password to their Spotify account though.

**Author's Note:**

> if you're wondering, hey, did this bish just write this to showcase how many 80s tracks remind her of harringrove?
> 
> then yes. yes, i did.


End file.
